Fire
by dollsom
Summary: Passion. Love. Loss. One shot


_Rating:_ PG  
_Ships:_ Giles/Jenny  
_Disclaimer:_ All characters are the property of Joss Whedon, Mutant Enemy, et al. No one profits monetarily from this fic.  
_Author's Note:_ This piece was my response to the prompt "fire", for the fan 100, for which I am writing a series of drabbles. It turned out rather longer than a drabble, so I decided to post it on its own. It takes place near the end of "Passion". The theme is fire. That's basically all there is to it.  
_Reviews:_ Are always appreciated.

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**Fire**

Giles had only just started to walk away from the classroom, when he heard muffled voices coming from inside. Hadn't Jenny been alone? Then there was a crashing noise. He turned and rushed back into the classroom.

Giles didn't know how or when the vampire had gotten in, but Angel was there. He had Jenny backed against the wall, and was glowering over her, threateningly, the remains of her computer scattered around their feet.

Without thinking, Giles strode over to the vampire, wheeled him around, and punched him in the jaw. Angel staggered back a few steps before recovering, springing at the Watcher with a furious growl, and hitting him so hard as to send him sprawling on the floor. Then, he froze, a look of confusion on his face. Angel didn't even notice the stake embedded in his chest before he crumbled into dust.

Slightly dazed, Giles got to his feet; Jenny was soon at his side to help steady him.

"You're hurt," she said with worry, softly touching Giles' face where the force of Angel's blow had split his skin.

"It's nothing," he said dismissively. "Are you alright?" Giles' gaze skimmed over her body, searching for signs of injury. She seemed unharmed.

"Just shaken up," Jenny answered. He studied her face with concern. The distress in her expression was quickly fading - the line of her mouth softened, and the worry that creased her brow smoothed away. The anxiety that had been clear in her gaze melted, and Jenny's eyes became calm and deep, yet at the same time sharp and bright - a look that was uniquely hers, that Giles had once found so unnerving, but which now fascinated him. "You got here before he could do anything," she added, her voice filled with relief, gratitude, and admiration.

"Yes, well..." Giles mumbled as he glanced away, suddenly modest. But then it struck him, why should he give in to his inhibitions, after what just happened? Hadn't Angel just proven that, with the kind of life they led, every moment was dear, too important for him to hold back?

He turned to face her again, fervent. "Jenny, if anything ever happened to you... if Angel had harmed you -"

"- but he didn't," she interrupted, everything about her calm, yet exuding a rising intensity that matched what Giles was feeling. "It's alright, you stopped him, you were here..." Jenny dropped her gaze, and her lips curved up in a smile, somehow both coy and shy, "... I mean, you _are _here..." as close as they already were, she moved closer; he could feel the heat radiating off her body, electric, "... _we're_ here..." her eyes rested on his lips a moment before she turned her gaze up to meet his, "... now," her voice was soft and filled with subtle meanings, "together." Giles might have noticed his heart rate quicken if he had not been focused solely on Jenny: the way her lips parted in an eager smile and reminded him of red wine; the way the fire that danced behind her eyes made him think of moths and dancing gypsies; the way everything about her repeated what she told him little more than twenty-four hours ago: that she loved him.

Giles didn't even realize that he was closing what little space was left between them until he held Jenny tightly and was kissing her. He stopped thinking as his senses were flooded, he was aware of everything in minute, almost painfully sharp detail: the pressure of her hand on his back; the movement of her fingers at the nape of his neck; the texture of her hair between his fingers; the contours of her body pressed firmly against his; the way the fabric of her clothes slid againt her skin with her slightest moves; the rhythm of her breathing; the scent of her hair, like inscence; the taste of her lips; the feel of her teeth and tongue as he explored her mouth; the way she explored his. And everything she did, everything about her, was filled with significance, held more meaning than he thought was possible, communicated a hundred different promises: of champaigne and candle-light, silk sheets and soft music, chocolate and whipped cream, chains and leather, torn clothes and teeth marks, the taste of sweat on humid nights, gentle whispers on rainy mornings, and the promise of all of it mixed together in the next few hours.

Giles broke off the kiss, breathing heavily.

He rested his forehead against hers, letting Jenny catch her breath. She inhaled and he felt her shoulders rise beneath his hands and her breasts press against him; she exhaled and her breath was hot on his face. He ran his thumb along her jaw and felt the blood pulsing through her, urgent and vital. Giles felt the air and the blood moving through her, and was deliriously happy, because it was proof that Jenny was there in his arms, alive and in love with him.

His lips travelled lightly over her face, kissing her softly, as if to memorize it by touch. He noticed the tone of every murmur and sigh... A flat, A, C... as though to catalogue those as well, along with the patterns her fingers were tracing on his back.

He drew away just enough to look at her face. Jenny's eyelids fluttered open, and her eyes were blazing black coals; they burned into his memory and his consciousness, so that Giles felt like thereafter he could only identify himself as the man whom Jenny looked upon that way.

"I love you," he told her, ardent and confessional.

And Jenny was kissing him, with more passion than ever. The heat pouring off of her was building, surrounding him, all-consuming. He could feel the temperature of his blood rising, sweat streaming down his skin. Her lips tasted salty, burning against his; her skin was searing hot, and her fingers left trails of flame where she touched him. Jenny _was_ the fire, and Giles felt that if she could burn him alive, then he could die happily.

Jenny pulled away gently, and Giles opened his eyes to look at her again. Something was wrong. She wore a look of confusion, and suddenly felt light and insubstantial in his arms. Her skin was dry and cool, and the internal light that had only just been burning in her eyes seemed to dim, even as their surroundings began to glow orange. It must have been the strange light that made it appear that Jenny was dissolving before his eyes... but a moment later there were only ashes.

Giles watched the ashes fall through his fingers, horror-stricken, uncomprehending. Around him, the air continued to burn, becoming so filled with smoke and ash that he began to choke.

Giles' surroundings grew increasingly brighter, and the roaring of a massive fire filled his ears. His breath seared his lungs and caught in his throat, and this was Hell, he knew... Giles' legs gave way beneath him, but someone was there to catch him: Buffy...

It was bright. He was in the warehouse. Everything was in flames, and Giles was vaguely aware that he had started it, it was his fire. Buffy was guiding him towards the exit, and then they were outside, and it was suddenly much colder. Giles wasn't in Hell. He could breath again, but that only made him angry, and the cold was wrong, it was all wrong. He pushed Buffy away. He belonged back inside, where he could let his lungs fill with ash, let the fire clear his body from the earth, let the world burn down around him.


End file.
